Of Guilt, Carrot Cake, and Blue Frosting Kisses
by writerdragonfly
Summary: It's been a long year. A lot has changed. He's pretty sure that his sexuality is a definite check mark in the bisexual category now. No ifs, ands, or buts.


_Prompt fill for the lovely eeyore9990 on tumblr. Original prompt was "first kiss!". Not sure how it evolved so much. Enjoy!_

* * *

At the beginning of the year, there were three things that Stiles knew beyond a matter of a doubt.

1.) Scott McCall was his absolute best friend, and always would be.

2.) As much as he loved comic books, his favorite hero wasn't a caped crusader but instead the sarcastic sheriff of Beacon Hills who he loved beyond measure as his son.

And 3.) While fantastic and among his favorite genre, magic did not exist.

* * *

By the end of the year, though? By the end of the year, a lot had changed.

Scott was still his best friend, his brother. But their relationship had changed and not entirely for the better, even if it had certainly been on the upswing the past few months.

His dad was still his hero, but he didn't need to rely on comic books to find people who he could look up to, aspire to be anymore. There were heroes all around him, even if he knew now that he would never be one.

And _magic?_ Magic and myth and monsters were real and mostly, it all _sucked._

* * *

At the beginning of the year, there was a fourth thing that Stiles probably would have said, if he ever thought he needed to. At the beginning of the year, as far as he knew, he was 100% straight-_nothing wrong with people who weren't, but I'm not one of them_-straight.

By the end of the year, though? He knew that he wasn't.

* * *

If he hadn't had so many other things on his mind that night, at the black light party, he probably would have said no to Caitlin's question about his sexuality, maybe kissed her again, and then helped her sober up before he asked her out on a real date. Of course, that isn't how it happened. And Stiles didn't really get the opportunity to think about it for weeks afterward anyway.

* * *

His dad sends him to therapy after the Nogitsune is dealt with. It's awkward and makes him uneasy because of _Morrell_, and eventually his dad caves and agrees to let him attend a therapy group instead.

He doesn't talk a lot in group. He doesn't know how. He can't explain what has happened, can't explain his guilt and how it's not misplaced.

But he listens. He listens to everyone else, how they're healing. How they're not.

* * *

Caitlin is in the group that meets after his.

That's how it all changes.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I know you're probably in a hurry to leave, but..."

"What did you need?"

"I just... I wanted to ask if you... If you were the guy from the black light party? The one who..."

"With the key? Yeah, I am."

"I wanted to thank you."

"For what? Kissing you and then taking off?"

"You have me a bottle of water and told me to drink it. I don't. I don't know if I can explain, but..."

_"Stiles?"_ His father's voice interrupts them. The moment is lost anyway.

"I have to go, my dad's waiting. Maybe... Maybe we can talk next week?"

"Sure," she says it, but Stiles doesn't know if she means it.

* * *

The next week, she sits down next to him on the steps outside the building as he waits for his dad. She doesn't speak until he does, and he doesn't understand why.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Burnt orange."

"Burnt orange? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

* * *

They get coffee during the half hour interval between his group and hers. They talk. Sometimes it's serious, but sometimes they both need a break.

He doesn't talk about the Nogitsune. Not in carefully disguised terms or any other.

He thinks they're friends, and he doesn't realise until then that he desperately craved one who wasn't in the middle of everything.

* * *

"I haven't gotten drunk since that night." She tells him, swinging her legs back and forth. Stiles watches her, but his own legs are still.

"Why not?"

"You, mostly."

"What?"

"When I drink, it's easier to forget. I can walk up to any guy or girl, have sex, and then everything is blank until the next morning. I liked that, I liked feeling that. But... you didn't even know me. You knew about her, about what happened. You're not the first one to recognise me like that. But... You gave me a bottle of water, you told me to drink it. You could have asked me to have sex and I would have done it at the drop of a hat. You didn't."

"I was distracted."

"Not that much, though."

* * *

"Do you feel like it's your fault?"

"That she died? Sometimes... Most of the time. Objectively? I know it's not. I'm not the one who did it. But..."

"But you took her out there?"

* * *

"I wanted to hate you, at first. Because you were so _human_."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You cared about a stranger. You cared about me, and you didn't know me. Sometimes..."

"It feels like you don't deserve to be human?"

"Yeah. Exactly."

* * *

"You never answered me, you know."

"I always answer your questions, don't I?"

"I asked you if you liked boys, and you never answered."

"What?"

"Do you like boys, Stiles?"

"...No."

"You hesitated. You did back then too."

"I had a lot going on back then!" He protests.

She punches his shoulder lightly and smiles, "but now?"

He thinks about it. About questions he's asked and things he's done.

Long looks shared.

"I don't know."

* * *

Caitlin shows up at his house late one Saturday night in December. His father answers the door to see her with a look on her face that's almost the same as it was that night when she lost the girl she loved.

"Is Stiles home?" She tries not to cry as she asks.

"I'll get him. Why don't you sit on the couch?"

When Stiles comes down the stairs with his slightly confused father, she immediately latches on to him.

"I didn't know where else to go."

* * *

She falls asleep on the couch, her head in his lap. His dad questions their relationship, and he knows his dad doesn't know whether to believe they're just friends. But they are.

* * *

"No one understands me like you do. And I just... Needed that last night."

"My dad thinks we're dating now."

"We would never work as a couple, Stiles."

"I know."

* * *

"It's not like you're not my type, you know? Because you obviously are. I kissed you first."

* * *

"I think I might never have noticed... If you hadn't..."

"Are we talking about the _thing_?"

Stiles shoves her shoulder as she grins over at him.

"I don't know... I think I still... prefer... girls? But..."

Caitlin squeezes his hand in hers.

"You're allowed to prefer one over the other. I prefer girls. But that doesn't make me a lesbian-I still like boys too."

* * *

Stiles snorts into his drink as Caitlin finishes a story about her first boyfriend. She stops giggling to fix her eyes on someone behind Stiles.

"Now, that man is definitely rocking that sweater." She whispers, fanning herself in a purposefully over the top fashion. He resists the urge to snicker and looks over his shoulder.

Derek Hale is standing at the counter, being handed a covered cup. He's wearing a maroon sweater and he realises with a start that he _agrees_ with Caitlin.

"Oh my god, it even has thumb holes. He's so attractive, I can't even."

Stiles can see the slight flush to Derek's features as he turns away from the counter.

He catches Derek's eye and it feels like ages before Derek looks away.

Then he's out the door.

"Stiles?" Caitlin's voice interrupts his staring contest with thin air.

"Yes?" He replies sheepishly.

"You totally had a moment with Scruffy McSweater! That look he gave you was hot as fuck."

"_What_? Derek didn't give me a look-"

"You _know_ him? Oh my god, kid. How have you not climbed him like a tree yet?" Caitlin asks. Stiles thinks she's teasing at first but it quickly becomes apparent that, no, she's completely serious.

"I don't even know if he likes-wait, did you call me kid?"

* * *

He can't stop thinking about Derek _Fucking_ Hale. It's like a dam has been opened in his head.

He's pretty sure that his sexuality is a definite check mark in the bisexual category now. No ifs, ands, or buts.

* * *

He's pretty sure he should have realised he wasn't 100% straight a lot sooner. He has a mental catalog of Derek Hale in various states of dress (and undress) in his brain.

(And also Danny. And a few of the hot guys from that completely disastrous night at Jungle. And maybe a few other-how the fuck did he never notice?)

* * *

"So, have you fucked Sweater Guy yet?"

_"No!"_ It comes out a little higher pitched than he'd intended but she'd completely thrown him off with that one.

"Are you seriously going to play the blushing virgin right now-_oh my god, are you actually still a virgin?_" She asks when he almost drops his hot chocolate at her teasing.

"Can we _not_, Caitlin?"

* * *

Caitlin doesn't tease him about it, but she does send him a dozen texts over the next few days telling him to ask Derek out. _Like it's that easy._

* * *

His dad is called in on Christmas Day because of a murder suicide. It's easily the most depressing case Stiles can ever remember happening at Christmas.

Stiles knows that Scott has plans with his mom (and his _dad_), and Caitlin is out of town. Lydia is visiting London over the break, and he's actually halfway convinced she might bring Jackson back with her.

So he sits alone in his empty house for a few hours, debating on whether or not it would be worth it to see if anything is open.

He's driving past Derek's loft when it occurs to him that Derek is probably alone. On Christmas.

So yeah, he knows Peter might actually be there but somehow he doubts it.

He just _knows_ that Derek is sitting in his loft alone. And Stiles can't help but think about everything that has happened in the last year, the people that Derek has lost.

* * *

He goes upstairs.

* * *

Derek is sitting in the little kitchen, back against the stove. He's wearing that (_stupid_) red sweater and Stiles immediately notices the thumb holes that Caitlin had pointed out.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" Derek sounds tired. Stiles can't blame him. He misses his mom a lot this time of year, and he can't imagine how Derek feels.

"I didn't want to be alone." Stiles admits, sitting down next to Derek. There's enough heat behind him that he can tell the oven is on.

Derek looks at him, just stares. And then he nods. Stiles wonders what Derek was asking, what answer he found.

"It's my birthday," Derek whispers, staring at the floor. Stiles suddenly feels a thousand percent worse. He _hadn't_ known that.

"Happy birthday, werewolf Jesus?" He's not sure why he says it. It's probably the most ridiculous and inappropriate thing he could have said then.

But Derek _smiles_. Not the blindingly attractive smile, where his teeth show and his eyes crinkle. No, Derek smiles that little upturn of his lips, where they twitch a little as if holding back a laugh. A _real_ smile.

They don't speak for a few minutes. Stiles doesn't mind. Silence is better together, sometimes.

Then Derek climbs off the floor, wipes the butt of his sinfully tight jeans off (and yeah, Stiles definitely should have cottoned on to the fact that he _liked_ Derek in a non-platonic way much sooner) and opens the oven once Stiles gets up too.

There's a cake pan in the oven. He can smell that it's cake before Derek can take it out, and Stiles suddenly knows.

Derek baked himself a birthday cake while sitting alone on Christmas. What was probably the _first_ Christmas, first _birthday_ without Laura.

"Carrot cake?" Stiles asks. Derek doesn't respond. Instead he sets the pan on the stove top and switches the oven off.

"Why are you here, Stiles?" Derek asks again, leaning against the counter now.

"I didn't want to be alone. And you shouldn't have to be."

* * *

Caitlin sends him a text half an hour later, but he doesn't get it right away. He leaves his phone in the kitchen as they eat boxed mix carrot cake with cheap bright blue frosting on the balcony. It's cold, but not snowing. The sky is clear, and the stars are bright.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Do you like me?"

Derek doesn't answer right away. Stiles just stares up at the sky, trying not to think about what his silence means.

"I don't know if I can," Stiles looks at Derek, really looks at him. He looks so small, then. Derek continues, "All the people I've ever let myself care about... "

"I'm too stubborn to die, and I'm already responsible for... bad things. So-"

Derek kisses him. Stiles doesn't expect it. He wants it, badly wants it, but he doesn't expect it.

He expected that Derek would reject him. Even with _potential feelings_ involved, he expected to be rejected. Neither one of them gets nice things. It doesn't happen.

It doesn't go farther than a brief press of lips. Not then. Stiles can see a smear of blue frosting on Derek's lips that wasn't there before and probably came from his own.

Derek looks at him, but doesn't speak. Neither does Stiles.

"It's not your fault, you know." Derek says after a moment.

"How is it not? It rode around in my body-"

"It used you as a weapon, Stiles. It doesn't mean you're responsible for everyone that died."

"I can't... Why are we talking about this?" Stiles almost yells it. He doesn't want to talk about this.

"We don't have to talk about it now. But we will have to, you know."

"Why will we have to talk about it? Some werewolf need to make sure your pack mates aren't going off the deep end?"

"Just a need to make sure my potential boyfriend won't end up like my ex-girlfriends."

"What?"

"You asked. At least this time I know going in what to expect."

Stiles kisses him this time. He licks his lips and pushes against Derek with his whole body, his whole being. It's not sexual, but it's passionate. It's every shared look and conversation and blue frosting on orange cake.

Derek is still an asshole. He's still kind of creepy. He still has issues up the wazoo.

But so does Stiles. He's not going to be fixed by a five minute conversation and the realization that he's halfway in love and completely in lust with Derek Hale. He's still insensitive and inappropriate and he's still an asshole too.

But Derek bought blue frosting for an orange cake. He kissed Stiles like it meant something.

Stiles doesn't know if they'll last. He doesn't know if Derek will wake up tomorrow and wish he hadn't kissed him, hadn't kissed back.

But for the moment, Stiles doesn't care. He doesn't deserve nice things. Derek doesn't think he does either. Maybe they can deserve each other. Two broken pieces trying to fit when the board's been flipped.

* * *

Stiles goes back inside to a text message from Caitlin. He reads it as he stands in the kitchen with his fingers wrapped tightly between Derek's.

_"I went to the cemetery with Emily's parents today. I think I'm finally ready to let go."_

* * *

_end_


End file.
